


into the wild

by aghamora



Series: Flaurel Ficlets [34]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Camping, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 19:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5940993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aghamora/pseuds/aghamora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurel sighs. </p>
<p>Well, in hindsight, maybe a pair of lifelong, nature-phobic city-dwellers going camping together in the middle of the woods wasn’t the best idea in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	into the wild

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: 'flaurel camping.'

“Frank! Frank, get over here! There’s a really big spider.”

“So? Kill it yourself. It’s not like – holy  _shit_ , that’s huge.”

Laurel scoffs, parroting his own words back at him, “So? Kill it yourself, Mr. I’m-so-Macho.”

“Uh uh. No way. I’m not goin’ anywhere near that thing.”

Laurel sighs.

Well, in hindsight, maybe a pair of lifelong, nature-phobic city-dwellers going camping together in the middle of the woods wasn’t the best idea in the world.

Frank had been the one to suggest it, telling her that “c’mon, we should go out. Rough it. Take in the fresh air and appreciate the wilderness and whatever. It’ll be fun.” She had been hesitant, of course, to give up the amenities of civilization for an entire weekend, but after a bit of persuading – and the eating-out of her life – she’d caved, decided to do it for him. Hell, she’d thought as they had piled all their newly-bought camping gear into his trunk and drove to their campground two hours outside of the city, maybe it would even be kind of fun.

_Wrong_. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Oh please,” she remarks, folding her arms and staring down at the alarmingly big, eight-legged intruder. “You’re, like, fifty times its size.”

“So are you. And besides, how do you know it’s not poisonous?”

“It… probably isn’t.”

“Probably?” Laurel just looks at him, and Frank relents. “Fine. But if it bites me, you’re sucking out the poison.”

She feigns a sound of disgust at that, watching as Frank reaches out and grabs a nearby rock, and she’s just about to ask what, exactly, he’s planning on doing with it when he squints, aims, and sends it flying toward the spider, in hopes of crushing it. Only his aim is abysmal, and instead of hitting his target, he only succeeds in spooking the spider and sending it skittering away, disappearing into a nearby pile of leaves.

She jumps, and backs away immediately. “Frank! What was that?”

“What, you think I was gonna get within less than two feet of that thing? Spiders are scary little fuckers – and besides, at least it’s gone.”

“Yeah, until it climbs into our sleeping bag tonight.”

He just shakes his head, and makes his way back over to their half-assembled tent. “We’ll survive. Now c’mon, let’s get this set up. The weather said it’s supposed to r-”

A loud, foreboding crack of thunder from above, followed by a few raindrops plopping onto their faces, silences Frank at once.

Laurel almost groans aloud. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Hey. It’s not all bad,” Frank urges with a grin, getting to his feet, walking over to Laurel, and settling his hands on her hips. More raindrops follow quick in succession, but he pays no attention to them. “There’s no cell service up here, which means no Annalise calling and ruining our weekend. None of that ‘glamping’ bullshit either; just you and me and a tent and nature. And ‘sides, even if the rest of this trip is a bust…”

He drifts off, and moves in closer, eyes darkening with desire. “At least we can have some wild, animal sex in the wilderness. Scream as loud as we want.”

Laurel scoffs, not surprised in the least. “What, was that the only reason for this trip?”

“Not the  _only_  reason,” he teases, and ghosts his lips across hers. “But definitely one of ‘em.”

He seizes her lips before she has the chance to reply, in a deep, searing kiss that makes his intentions crystal clear. Laurel can’t help but respond out of instinct, curling her arms around him and humming against Frank’s lips, and only pulling away when he starts to unzip her puffer vest.

“We shouldn’t,” she manages to pant, but can’t keep from grinning when he starts to nibble at her neck, and pushes her back against a nearby tree. “Frank –  _ah_ , what if hikers or… park rangers walk by, or something?”

He pulls back for a moment to meet her eyes. “Then I guess they’ll see two animals going at it in their natural habitat, huh?”

“Frank!” She half-cackles, but lets him peel off her vest and make short work of the grey thermal she’s wearing beneath. “It’s gonna rain. We need to pitch the tent.”

Unflappable as ever, Frank just peers down between his legs, at the not-so-inconspicuous stiffy in his pants, and raises an eyebrow. 

“Tent’s already been pitched.”

“Oh my God,” Laurel laughs, throwing her head back. “You know, I can’t believe you sometimes.”

Frank doesn’t answer. He just kisses her once more, more insistently this time, and tangles a hand in her hair, urging her closer. She complies eagerly, melting against him. The rain is coming down harder now, wetting their hair and making what little clothing they  _are_  wearing cling to them like a limp extra skin, but the heat of Frank’s body is so great that she barely notices at all. Before long, he is urging her away from the tree, back into the woods, as his belt disappears and her shirt vanishes, flung only God knows where. Somehow, she ends up lying down on the ground, in only a bra and her tights with Frank atop her, shirtless, kissing at her neck hungrily.

Admittedly, this may not be the best idea in the world, but it’s not like Laurel is about to stop what they’ve already started. Plus, at least now they’ll be able to cross ‘hot nature romp’ off their sex bucket list – an idea that was entirely Frank’s.

Not hers. At all. Not even  _slightly_.

Laurel shifts just then, however, and winces when she feels something digging into her back – hard. It stirs her from her thoughts, bringing her crashing back down to earth rather effectively.

“Ow,” Laurel hisses, sitting up. “Twig in back. Twig in back!”

Frank makes a low sound against her neck that almost sounds apologetic, and lets her shift over a bit, until she can lay back on the ground comfortably once more and let him resume his kisses. For a while Laurel loses herself in the feeling – his beard scraping her neck, his hot mouth sucking at her skin, teeth nipping here and there and sending tiny jolts of pain through her. She runs her hands through his slick hair and sighs happily, then gasps when one of his hands creeps lower and urges her thighs apart, his destination clear.

“ _Oh_ ,” she pants, biting her lip. “We are _so_  gonna get poison ivy from this.”

He looks up briefly, smirking. “Long as it’s not on my dick, I think I’ll survive.”

She scoffs, but Frank swallows the sound with another kiss. Clearly growing weary of just kissing and wanting to take things a step further, he reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra – and that’s when Laurel feels it.

Something on her leg. Something… tickling her. No – not tickling.

_Crawling_.

She shoots up immediately, all but throwing Frank off her. “ _Ants_! Shit, shit, shit!”

Frank, apparently, feels it too, and swears under his breath, standing and making a similarly frantic effort to beat the ants off of his leg. Laurel jerks and twitches and does an awkward little dance around as she does the same, half-shrieking all the while, and by the time she finishes swatting them away, she’s soaked by rainwater, shivering, miserable, and covered in ant bites. Frank looks about the same, and glances over at her with his lips flattened into a grim line, the mood sufficiently killed.

“Well,” Laurel says, glowering as she tries to fix her bra, which is half falling off of her. “What was it you said about the rest of this trip being a bust?”

Frank, who has just finished getting rid of the last few ants, looks around, shivering a bit in the cold, and folds his arms. 

“Maybe it won’t be. Here, we’ll set up the tent and save the hot nature sex for later, okay? Delayed gratification.”

“Fine,” Laurel grumbles, plodding along after him back toward their little campsite. “But next time, try not to set me down on an  _anthill_ , please and thank you.”

 

–

 

It takes almost two hours of blood, sweat, tears, and lots of swearing on Frank’s part, but finally, they assemble the tent a bit lopsidedly and sit down to light a fire, as the evening sun sinks down below the horizon and filters in golden rays through the trees above them. By some miracle, they manage to find a bunch of dry wood and grass, and build up a fire just as it starts to get dark, settling down for the evening to eat a surprisingly gourmet dinner cooked on their little camping stove.

“You know,” Laurel nestles herself in at Frank’s side and sighs happily, as the flames dry their damp clothes and hair. “We may’ve gotten off to a bad start, but…”

He smirks, and curls an arm around her. “But what?”

“I’m not going to say you were right about this,” she asserts, trying to be firm. “ _But_ … maybe this will be kind of fun after all.”

Frank chuckles and pecks her on the top of her head. “Told ya.”

Laurel rolls her eyes, but turns toward him regardless and raises her face to his, pressing her lips down onto Frank’s. It doesn’t take long for their kisses to deepen and grow heated again, and Laurel hums against his mouth, maneuvering herself into his lap and straddling him as the heat of the fire warms her back. Quickly she feels him harden against her thigh, and she’s just about to reach for his belt when-

Out of nowhere, in the bushes next to them, there’s a faint rustling sound.

Laurel jumps and pulls away at once, glancing around hastily. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Frank blinks, apparently too caught up in her to care about much else. “Relax. It was probably nothing.”

Laurel shakes her head and moves away, brow furrowed. “It wasn’t  _nothing_. I heard something over there.”

Frank looks about to protest when, suddenly, there it is again: something rustling, louder this time. At that, he jumps to his feet, alarmed, and backs away, extending an arm out in front of Laurel to shield her from the invisible threat. A minute later the rustling happens again, coupled this time with a low, foreboding growl, and Laurel starts to panic, grabbing Frank by the arm, tugging him over to a nearby thicket, and crouching behind a tree about twenty or so feet from their little campsite in the clearing.

And hardly a minute later – of fucking course – an enormous grizzly bear makes its way out of the bushes.

Laurel gapes, covering her mouth with her hands and going rigid with fear. Luckily, the bear fails to notice either of them in their hiding spot, but not so luckily, it then sets about trashing their campsite, tearing through their backpacks and cooler for the food they’d packed and devouring it with a series of deep, satisfied bear-sounds.

“Frank!” she hisses as quietly as she can, and smacks him on the arm. “Frank, oh my god, look what it’s doing!”

“So? The hell you want me to do?”

“I don’t know! I – scare it away, or  _fight_ it, or something!”

Frank gives her a look of disbelief. “You think I’m about to fight a fucking bear?”

“You’re bigger than it is!” Laurel pauses, remembering the incident with the spider, and shakes her head. “Actually… nevermind.”

So, helplessly, they watch. It’s all they can do, really: watch the bear destroy their campsite and tear apart their backpacks and wolf down all their food in under five minutes. Then – as if just for good measure – the bear lumbers over their tent on its way out, trampling it and leaving all their hard work in a pathetic heap on the ground.

“Not the tent,” Laurel whines, as she gets to her feet and makes her way back to their destroyed campsite, now filled with torn-up wrappers, scraps of food, and various other broken items lying here and there. “We worked on that for forever!”

Frank stoops down and picks something up, frowning. “Dammit. Bastard even lifted my Slim Jim’s.”

“That’s what you’re worried about right now? Your disgusting sticks of mechanically separated meat?” she snaps. “We have no place to sleep, and all our food and supplies are ruined.”

Frank pauses, assessing the situation in silence for a moment, a similarly grim look on his face. Then, he crinkles up the Slim Jim wrapper in his hand, exhales sharply, and reaches for his backpack with sudden determination.

“Come on. I got an idea.”

Laurel freezes. “What? Where are we going?”

“I saw a cabin rental office a ways down the road,” he explains, as they switch on their flashlights and prepare to make the trek back down the trail to their car. “Probably won’t be open now, but that doesn’t mean we can’t commandeer one for the night.”

Laurel trails along after him, skeptical. “Why can’t we just… drive to a motel, or something?”

“Because,” he looks back at her and grins. “I promised you a rustic experience this weekend with some hot nature slash cabin sex, and I’m gonna follow through even if it kills me.”

Laurel isn’t entirely sure about this plan, but doesn’t protest again and instead only follows him to their car, which they load with the things they’d been able to salvage from their camp and guide down the muddy dirt roads, while the thunderstorm around them starts to howl. They drive for a while, until they reach a few tiny cabins; hardly anything more than one-room shacks, but far more preferable than roughing it out in the wilderness with no tent and minimal supplies.

“Committing a felony,” Laurel remarks as they approach one of them and set down their backpacks on the porch, their clothes soaked through by the rain. “The perfect addition to any romantic weekend getaway.”

Frank steps around the side of the cabin, peering in one of the windows to see if anyone is inside, then circling back around, digging through his backpack for a while, and withdrawing a little piece of metal. It looks like it’d come from part of their broken tent, and he holds it out to her, an expectant look on his face.

“Here. Pick the lock.”

“Me?” Laurel raises an eyebrow.

“What? You never pick a lock before?”

“No,” she retorts, folding her arms. “I’m afraid breaking and entering wasn’t part of Brown’s curriculum.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re dating me,” he jokes, and steps closer, motioning for her to watch. “I’ll teach you some stuff you can actually use.”

Laurel grumbles at first, demanding to know why they can’t do this when she isn’t shivering and miserable and exhausted to the point of dropping, but she proves to be a quick enough study that it only takes a few minutes of fumbling with the slippery piece of metal before she hears the blessed  _click_ of the lock. They rush inside shortly afterward, grateful to be out of the storm, and find the place bathed in darkness. Frank turns on a light near the door, and Laurel finds it just as she’d expected: tiny, only one room with a queen-sized bed, but surprisingly clean and well-decorated, with a rustic motif in all the rugs and blankets and furniture. The multiple taxidermy deer heads on the wall freak her out more than a bit, if she’s being honest – but she can look past that for now, because the bed looks comfy and cozy and  _perfect_. And there’s nothing more she wants to do than lie down and sleep after this disaster of a day.

“Hey, look,” Frank calls out from the corner. “We got heat. Running water, too.”

“And cell service,” Laurel tells him, pulling out her phone and holding it up to find two little bars up in the corner of the screen. “Hallelujah.”

Frank pulls off his muddy boots and lies down on the bed next to her. Laurel glances over at him and sighs happily, as the vent above the bed blows warm – albeit dusty – air on them, melting away the chill in her bones.

“Why did we ever think we could rough it?” she asks with a laugh. “Why’d we even  _try_?”

Frank shrugs. “Dunno. It was a shitty idea, and it sucks, and we’re never doin’ it again. Next time I’m taking you to a five star hotel with a restaurant and a spa. Promise.”

“Good – because I need my cell phone. And my Keurig.  _And_  my shower.”

“Yeah?” he teases, planting kisses idly along her jawline. “Well, all I need is you.”

Laurel melts for a second, before rolling her eyes and smacking him playfully on the arm. “Okay, that’s bull and you know it. You’re just as high maintenance as I a-”

Frank interrupts her with a kiss. She lets him, without a second thought.


End file.
